


I’ll bloom for you (while my heart still cries)

by spencers-renaissance (tomlinsoul)



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Derek is so soft for Spencer, FBI Agent Derek, Flowers, Fluff, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Hacker Penelope, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mentions of Financial Difficulties, Mutual Pining, Shy Spencer Reid, Spring, Student Spencer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-24
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-24 21:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30078561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomlinsoul/pseuds/spencers-renaissance
Summary: Based on the age-old Tumblr prompt: "Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery and today you've caught me and insisted on coming with me to make sure the 'girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft' and I'm trying to figure out how to break it to you that we're on our way to a graveyard."
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Kudos: 1





	I’ll bloom for you (while my heart still cries)

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem Spring's Winter by Angie Weiland-Crosby. The full quote reads "Spring sang softly as Winter died, I'll bloom for you; while my heart still cries."
> 
> Set in a nondescript town somewhere in Nevada, not far from Las Vegas. Also, I know jack shit about flowers sooo just go with me.
> 
> Anyway, I LOVED writing this fic and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much! Strap in for a super fluffy Moreid meet-cute!

Spencer takes a deep breath in, composing himself, before opening his front door and stepping out onto the road. It’s become a sort of tradition now: every Sunday he buys himself a cinnamon swirl at his local bakery before walking all the way to the graveyard on the other side of town to have breakfast with his mom. 

Unfortunately, said tradition has made him a thief. 

It’s really not his fault that the house he can’t help but pass on his way to see her has the most beautiful flower garden filled with all her favourites: sweet peas and cosmos, dahlias and anemones. If he reaches over the white picket fence and plucks a few, what damage is really being done? The front garden is filled with them, and he can only imagine what the yard looks like, a few missing flowers each week are hardly going to be noticed.

Buying flowers really isn’t in the budget. Ever since his mom died and he no longer has her disability check, he has to try and afford everything with his two minimum wage jobs as he finishes his second PhD. His indulgences are controlled and factored into his budget spreadsheet each week: a cinnamon pastry each Sunday and a take-away Chinese each Thursday. Flowers don’t make the cut.

Just because money’s tight doesn’t mean Diana’s grave has to look barren and empty, though. She deserves more than that. This house simply facilitates her memorial.

The bakery is quiet this morning, so he orders his pastry quickly and begins his stroll through town towards the graveyard. It’s still only the middle of spring but Nevada is warm enough for him to forgo a jacket, letting the early morning sun bathe him in its warm glow. The cooler breeze still gives him goosebumps though, and the combination makes him smile. This was always his mom’s favourite time of year: she used to say it was like winter and summer were having a tug of war, and summer just had the edge to win. 

His stomach flips, though, when he approaches the flower garden. As much as he justifies his flower theft, he doesn’t feel  _ good _ about it. Someone’s sown the seeds, watered them through dry spells, nurtured them until they bloomed into the beautiful spring flowers he loves so much.

Steeling himself for his weekly heist, he approaches it as casually as possible, looking around him discreetly before sneaking up to the fence and hurriedly plucking a couple of daffodils, a yellow rose, and a tulip as well as his usual sweet peas and anemones. 

He fists them tightly in his right hand, cinnamon swirl warm from the oven and the sun in his left, before walking away quickly. Once he gets to the end of this road he’ll slow down, but he’s fleeing the scene of the crime; there’s no time for dilly-dallying and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his neck right now. 

He doesn’t get far before he hears the sound of running footsteps behind him and feels a hand on his shoulder, turning him around gently. His stomach pools with fear at being caught, and although he could maybe try and shake the hand off and make a run for it, he’d rather explain himself to the person than have them ring the police. Would he go to jail for flower stealing? Probably not. But he’s not about to risk it. 

As soon as he turns around to face his accuser, though, he’s too shocked to try and explain himself. Why does the man who caught him red-handed, the man who now holds his fate in his (massive, strong,  _ sexy _ ) hands have to be some sort of Greek adonis? And why is he  _ smiling _ ?

“Uh… I’m—” Spencer stutters, feeling horrifically shy and embarrassed all of a sudden, “I’m so sorry. Here, have them back, I shouldn’t have taken them, I don’t know what I was thinking. I just… please, take them.” As much as he thrusts the haphazard bouquet of flowers at him, though, the other man just keeps smirking amusedly at Spencer’s floundering.

“There’s not much I can do with plucked flowers,” the other man chuckles, and although Spencer’s relieved he doesn’t seem as furious as he expected him to be, if he could be predictable in  _ any  _ way that would be very much appreciated. “You keep them.”

Spencer starts, taken aback by the statement. Surely this man should think that he doesn’t deserve the stolen flowers even if he can’t do anything with them himself? Surely he should rip them up and stamp on them just to rub it in his face?

“Really?” he asks, relaxing the arm still holding the bundle out towards the other man, pulling them close to his chest. They smell fresh and fragrant, and it relaxes him a little, reminding him of his childhood when he and his mom would lie in their garden next to the flower patch, watching the bees buzzing around the petals as the spring breeze carried the scent in their direction. 

“Really.” 

“I— thank you.” He’s slowly starting to relax, but suspicion lingers. The man doesn’t seem the type to lock him up in prison at least, but he caught up with him for a reason, he has to want  _ something _ . If he has to go without as much food this week to pay this man the money for the flowers then that’s… that’s fine. It will teach him his lesson at least. 

“I do have one question, though,” the man says, the lazy grin he’s wearing making him a million times more attractive. 

“What is it?” Spencer asks, both apprehensive and intrigued all at once.

“Is the girl cute?”

_ What? _ Spencer blinks stupidly at the man for a second before his brain catches up with what he said. He thinks that the flowers he stole are for a date. With a  _ woman.  _ He’s not sure this man could possibly have it more wrong. 

“Uh…”

“Never mind,” the man says as his grin widens, “I’m gonna come with you. If you’re gonna steal the flowers that Penelope dedicates a majority of her free time to, I need to make sure the girl is pretty enough to warrant it. She must be pretty special if you’re willing to risk getting busted.”

Is this a trick? Spencer’s brain is short-circuiting and all he can do is follow this unfairly attractive man, clutching the spoils of his heist in his right hand, his cinnamon snail in his left, and a whole lot of anxiety in his chest. 

They walk quietly in the morning sunshine for a while, Spencer’s mind going a million miles an hour while the man he stole from looks pleasantly relaxed. He’s definitely older than him, probably pushing thirty as opposed to Spencer’s twenty-one, and he clearly has his life together: he owns a gorgeous house with a large front garden and apparently has a girlfriend or wife, judging by the mention of ‘Penelope’. 

It’s not long before his pondering thoughts are interrupted by his surprise guest. “I’m Derek by the way. What’s your name, pretty boy?”

“Spencer.” 

“And what about his girl?” he winks. “What’s her name?”

Oh, God. “Diana,” he says after a couple of second’s hesitation. It’s not a lie. It’s not exactly the truth, either, but how does is he supposed to explain to this guy who clearly sees this entire situation as some sort of light-hearted opportunity for a good story that they’re not on their way to see some sexy classmate for a date, but a middle-aged, recently deceased woman buried under six feet of soil?

“Pretty,” Derek hums, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and sliding them on as they turn down a road that has them walking face-to-face with the sun.

“Who’s Penelope?” he dares to ask after a few moments of silence. It’s surprisingly comfortable, actually, but he’d still rather take the opportunity to talk to this model of a man. 

Derek chuckles, glancing over at him as he answers. Spencer hopes he doesn’t see through his casual front and read his true motivation for asking. “My best friend,” he replies. “She’s a hacker and I work for the FBI in the Nevada Field Office. It’s an unlikely pairing, I’ll be the first to admit it, but we’re a match made in heaven. Penelope always uses the term ‘platonic soulmates.”

Spencer might be going into shock. Can this man get any more surprising? “Wow,” he says, huffing a laugh, “that’s amazing.”

“She is pretty incredible,” Derek agrees, and Spencer marvels at how comfortable he manages to make him. He’s so disarmingly charming, so warm and agreeable that it’s probably what makes him good at his job. “What about you, what do you do, pretty boy?”

Spencer feels his cheeks flush warmly at the affectionate nickname and he ducks his head as he tries to compose himself. This man is almost definitely straight and he doesn’t want this to get nasty. “I’m finishing up my PhD in engineering.” 

“Damn,” Derek chuckles, nudging him playfully in the side. “You’re about to be a doctor, man, that’s amazing.”

“No, I— I’m actually already a doctor,” Spencer explains bashfully. “This is my second doctorate.”

Derek’s head whips round at that and he stares at him in awe for a brief moment. Spencer wants to bottle it up to relive the warm and fuzzy feeling it gives him inside. 

“You’re so young! You must be some kind of genius or something.”

“Or something,” Spencer allows, finally feeling confident enough to look up and smile at Derek properly.

They chat leisurely for the next half an hour, relishing the warm weather and the strange, newfound company of one another as they meander through the streets of their small city. As they turn down the road that the graveyard is on, though, Spencer’s stomach flips again, knowing that whatever small, promising connection he just made is about to be ruined when Derek finds out that Spencer a) lied to him, b) has a far too tragic life story to make a good friend, and c) probably only let it go this far because he’s creepily into him. 

It’s unavoidable, though, when they reach the gate. Derek keeps walking, not even registering what’s behind the tall hedges and wrought iron gates and definitely not anticipating Spencer to stop, but as soon as he realises he’s alone, he turns around, walking the few steps back to stand in front of him again.

“What are you doing?” His brows are knitted, clearly confused, and it’s only when Spencer looks down at the ground in shame and Derek looks through the bars of the gate properly, eyes catching on the cemetery sign, that it clicks. “Oh.”

“There’s no girl,” Spencer says sadly, looking up but not quite meeting his eyes. 

“Diana?” Derek’s voice is so sincere and it catches on the prickly hurt and grief sat firmly around Spencer’s heart. 

“My mom.” He’s barely speaking above a whisper, but Derek hears him.

They’re quiet for half a minute, and Spencer has no idea what to expect. Derek hasn’t fled for the hills yet, but that doesn’t mean he won’t when it finally sinks in; when he realises all the implications of ending up at a grave and not the lips of a pretty girl.

“Well,” he says slowly after a minute, “I want to meet her.”

Spencer’s head snaps up. “What?”

“I came with you expecting a meeting with the girl pretty enough to warrant flower theft,” he continues, voice getting stronger as he grows more confident in his decision. “If you’re okay with it, I still want to have that meeting.”

This is not what Spencer expected, but it’s so unbelievably touching that he has to fight back the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. “Really?” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t care. 

“Really.” 

“Okay then,” Spencer agrees after a moment’s consideration, and he pushes the gate open, leading Derek inside the cemetery. 

It’s a gorgeous site: fruit trees of all different kinds border the graves and a beautiful lawn is kept well-watered and neatly trimmed. Stone pathways weave through the headstones, all of them organised neatly and most of them well-kept. It had been expensive to bury Diana here and he’d suffered for it financially, but he felt that his mother deserved the kind of peace this particular cemetery offered after a life of chaos and trauma and sickness. It’s on the outskirts of town, safe from prying eyes and horny school kids, spared the constant buzz of traffic. 

Bringing Derek in made him see it through new eyes, and he felt a little more at peace with his decision, knowing it was the right one.

“She’s buried under that plum tree over there,” Spencer says quietly as he leads Derek through the pathways, heading to his mother’s resting place. “I come in the mornings because it’s when the sun is warm on her grave; the shadows face the other way.”

He sits down in front of her headstone and Derek follows suit, taking his sunglasses off as Spencer carefully unwraps his cinnamon snail. “Hi Mom,” he murmurs, touching her gravestone affectionately, “I bought someone else to breakfast today, I hope you don’t mind.”

Derek reaches forward and touches the flowers he placed there last week, wilted, dried, and a little pinker than the predominantly yellow bouquet he’d stolen this morning. “You can steal as much from our garden as you want to, pretty boy,” he says quietly as he picks up a cosmo and brushes his finger over the petals. “I’m glad our flowers made you and your mom happy.”

Spencer looks over and smiles at him, the warmth in Derek’s eyes and the softness in his features making him melt. “Thank you,” he whispers, pausing to enjoy the moment they just shared before arranging this week’s flowers in front of the headstone. “There you go, Mom.”

It’s the best Sunday morning he’s had since she passed. 

★

Spencer’s tradition changes from the next Saturday onwards.

He no longer looks left and right before hurriedly leaning over the fence and gathering all the flowers he can reach, but meets Derek outside his house, where he stands waiting with a freshly picked bouquet, tied with a ribbon that matches the colour of the day perfectly. Apparently, Penelope had been quite the fan of Spencer’s deviant behaviour and found it rather amusing, and was now insisting on helping Spencer pay homage to his mother.

They spend the half an hour trek across town getting to know each other more, and Spencer isn’t exactly surprised to find himself falling for the other man. The casual affection and warm nicknames really aren’t helping, but Spencer doesn’t exactly discourage him, leaning into every side hug, every ‘pretty boy’, every hair tousle. 

When they reach the gates to the cemetery, Derek always soberly asks him whether he wants to eat breakfast alone with Diana that morning or if he wants company, and Spencer’s heart always melts at the thoughtful words and the kind, earnest expression that never fails to grace his features. 

(Spencer always shyly asks him to join him and Diana because… well. Why wouldn’t he?)

He leaves his house the same as usual this morning, checking his hair in the mirror in his hall before stepping out into the early summer sunshine and walking towards Derek’s house, excited anticipation stirring in his stomach just as it always does. 

Stopping off at the bakery, he buys a cinnamon swirl and a croissant for Derek before continuing his walk through the streets of his town. He can’t help the smile that creeps across his lips as he catches sight of Derek leaning against his fence as he inspects today’s bouquet, which from the looks of things follows a purple theme, and he speeds up a bit until Derek spots him. 

“Morning, pretty boy.” He smiles at Spencer and takes his croissant before handing him the lilacs, daphnids, and pansies, but his grin doesn’t seem as easy and laid back as it usually does.

“Morning,” Spencer replies, squinting suspiciously at Derek, but he just ducks his head and starts walking, forcing Spencer to follow. “Is everything okay, Derek?”

“Yeah, of course.” He glances over at Spencer and forces a slightly more convincing smile, but it still doesn’t quite cut it. Before he can say anything though, Derek’s changing the subject. “How did that meeting with your advisor go? Did she approve of the new research method?”

Damn it. He knows exactly how to get Spencer off-topic. “Yes! She loved my idea and even told me about a professor in Switzerland who I hadn’t even come across but had employed a similar method in his research into gamma rays a decade or so ago. She’s friendly with him so got me a phone call on Thursday to ask him all about it! She even told me that I’m one of the most promising candidates she’s ever advised.”

“I’m not surprised, Spencer,” Derek chuckles. “This is already your second PhD, and I doubt it will be your last.”

“No, probably not. I’m thinking my next one will be in Chemistry, particularly in climate studies. I’ve been researching ways to monitor rising atmospheric ammonia levels and acid gases and I think I might have found a way that could potentially reduce the cost dramatically. But I’ve decided I’m going for a BA in philosophy first.”

“Really?” Derek sounds surprised, but Spencer sort of expected him to. Everyone is when he tells them he’s thinking of studying something so unscientific, something so abstract and theoretical. 

“Yeah. I want to try my hand at something different and I’ve been reading some Ancient Greek texts which have really inspired me.” Spencer decides to keep talking about his academics if it means Derek keeps relaxing. He doesn’t look anywhere near as tense and nervous as he did a few minutes ago. “Besides, it reminds me of Mom. We used to lay by the flowerbeds in our garden and she’d ask me all the hypothetical questions she could think of until we were either deep in serious discussion or laughing hysterically.”

He smiles fondly at the memory, and Derek slings his arm around his waist, bringing him in for a side hug. He doesn’t let go once they pull away slightly though, keeping his arm wrapped around Spencer’s waist, and he preens at the contact, never wanting his warm hand to leave his side. 

“I think that sounds amazing, Spencer. I just know you’ll be amazing at it. I don’t think there’s a single thing you could be bad at.”

“Sports?” Spencer suggests, laughing a little.

“Okay,” Derek relents, chuckling along, “I can think of  _ one  _ thing you could be bad at. But you’ll smash that philosophy degree, I know it.”

“Thanks, Derek.” He leans his head against his shoulder for a brief second, showing him affectionate gratitude in the only way possible when they’re on the move  _ and _ both his hands are full. 

They walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Derek breaks it with a nervous cough, pulling away from Spencer so he can look at him properly. 

“Hey, I uh, I wanted to ask you something.” That tense, nervous look is back and Spencer’s stomach knots in unwarranted anxiety as he considers what could possibly make Derek Morgan so apprehensive.

“Okay,” he says slowly, trying not to let his own nerves show. “What is it?”

Derek reaches into his back pocket and pulls out two pieces of paper that Spencer can’t quite read with the way the bright morning sunshine reflects against the glossy finish. 

“I got these tickets to the Nevada Flower Festival in Vegas next week, and I was wondering if maybe… you’d like to go with me? As a date.”

That is not what Spencer was expecting. At all. “What?” he squeaks, physically unable to say anything else in response. 

“You don’t have to,” Derek rushes out, clearly panicking at Spencer’s less than agreeable reply, “it’s okay if you don’t. I just thought since flowers brought us together and I thought we were maybe getting somewhere it would be nice, but… I shouldn’t have brought it up, I’m sorry—”

“Derek,” Spencer interrupts, stopping abruptly and turning to face him properly. “I’d love to. I’m sorry, I was just surprised, I never thought you’d like me back. I thought I was the only one.”

The relief on Derek’s face makes Spencer smile warmly. He has no idea how a normal Sunday morning has turned into one of the best days of his life. 

“Pretty boy, I’m not sure I could’ve made myself more obvious,” he laughs. “How could you have thought I didn’t like you?”

“I don’t know! I guess I thought you were just like that with everyone!”

“Oh, Spencer. I spent the whole walk that first morning hoping Diana was some sort of euphemism and I was wrong about those flowers being for a girl.”

“You did?” he asks softly, ducking his head shyly. 

“I did.” He hooks a gentle finger under Spencer’s chin and lifts it until he’s making eye contact with him again. “I’m so happy you said yes.”

“Me too.” He knows he’s going red, but maybe he can blame it on the heat of the sun. 

By the look of the smirk Derek’s wearing though, he’s not so sure he’ll buy that. “Come on,” he sighs happily, taking Spencer’s pastry and holding it in the same hand as his own so Spencer can reciprocate when Derek sneaks a hand around his waist, “we have a date with your mom.”

“She’d be so happy knowing she brought me to you,” Spencer muses as they start walking towards the cemetery again, enjoying the feeling of his side pressed against Derek’s. “She’d always talk fondly about my future husband, and what a catch she thought I was. I’d tell her she was biased but she never listened. All she wanted was for me to be happy.”

“I think we would have gotten along like a house on fire,” Derek murmurs quietly, “because pretty boy, that’s all I want, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated and make me very happy, but honestly just so glad you're here!
> 
> It was so nice to take a break from my whump/angst series and write a happy little stand-alone, so I really hope it hit the spot for you guys as well. Also, I know I banged on about the sun a lot but Winter is dragging on where I live and I can't wait for warmer weather, so as always I am living vicariously through my comfort characters.
> 
> Here is the [tumblr post](https://spencers-renaissance.tumblr.com/post/646564018279104512/ill-bloom-for-you-while-my-heart-still-cries). Anybody can request fics on my tumblr, [@spencers-renaissance](https://spencers-renaissance.tumblr.com), or in the comments! Come say hi :)


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